Run: 2026-09-23-01M36RFPQB38VHA0KSRB9BHDGS

The bell over the bakery door gave a cheerful jingle, quite at odds with the black envelope on the counter. “Found it beneath the flour bin?” “Wedged behind it. Along with a silver cuff link.” Mara brushed powdered sugar from her apron. “Mr. Pritchard wore silver ones to the town council supper.” “And swore he’d never set foot in this bakery again after you refused to make his lemon tarts square.” “They were tarts. Tarts are round.” Rain tapped the windows of the little shop, blurring the green awnings across Main Street. On the envelope, someone had written: **I know what you did.** “Do you suppose it’s a threat?” “Or a recipe request from someone with dramatic handwriting.” Mara lifted the cuff link with a pair of tongs. A fleck of blue icing clung to its edge. “Pritchard’s coat was navy.” “So is half the town’s Sunday best. But only one person ordered blue-iced cupcakes for the supper.” The oven timer chimed. Mara glanced toward the cooling racks, where one cupcake was missing. “Tell me you didn’t eat the evidence.” “Not me. I’d have chosen the cinnamon bun.” A soft thump sounded in the back room. They both turned toward the swinging door. “Perhaps the missing cupcake has come back.” “Cupcakes don’t walk.” “In this town, neither do honest rumors. Let’s see which one it is.”